


only a mistake if we don't survive

by abovetheruins



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Demon Deals, Demon Shane Madej, Dreams and Nightmares, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Frat boy Ryan, M/M, Matchmaker Bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 11:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18549157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: If there was any way that Ryan had expected his week to end, it wouldn't include stumbling onto his frat brothers gathered around a summoning circle in the basement, illuminated by the glow of a dozen candles while one of them stumbled through some crude incantation in a language Ryan didn’t recognize.And yet.-Ryan's frat brothers summon a demon. He's... not what Ryan expects.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://theawfuledges.tumblr.com/post/183680175224/lightningridgeblackopal-baruyon) art.

If there was any way that Ryan had expected his week to end, it wouldn't include stumbling onto his frat brothers gathered around a summoning circle in the basement, illuminated by the glow of a dozen candles while one of them stumbled through some crude incantation in a language Ryan didn’t recognize.

And yet.

"Uh, it's not what it looks like?" Roland says, his phone cradled in his palm, screen bright and emblazoned with a long string of text.

Ryan takes one look at the rest of his brothers, at the summoning circle, and one long inward look at himself, and walks out of the room.

*

So his brothers are devil worshippers, is the first thought that manages to break through his foggy mind upon waking the next morning.

Or they're part of a cult, he theorizes while he brushes his teeth, squinting at his reflection and waiting for the freakout to happen. It's coming. He knows it.

Or maybe they're just a bunch of pranksters who have noticed how frazzled Ryan has been lately over his projects and wanted to distract him. It makes sense, in a roundabout way. It sounds like something they would do, anyway, and Ryan's totally ready to accept that as an explanation for what he saw.

Until he walks into the kitchen and sees the _demon_ , long, ram-like horns protruding from a head of fluffy brown hair, clear-frame glasses perched on the end of its - his? - sharp nose, wearing a sleepy smile that fails to hide the points of his teeth as he -

\- waves at Ryan?

 _Definitely devil worshippers then_ , Ryan thinks, and then blacks the fuck out.

*

He wakes up in the demon’s arms.

“What the _fuck_?!” he screams. Well, tries to scream. Somewhere between his vocal chords and his mouth his voice stops cooperating and comes out as a whimper instead.

The demon looks down at him, one brow quirked over pitch black eyes – holy fuck, holy _fuck_ \- and says, “Oh, you’re awake.”

“You had us scared for a second, Bergara,” Roland’s voice pipes up from beside them. Ryan glances over and yep, there’s his frat brother, walking along beside the demon like it’s no big deal, chewing on a granola bar and checking something on his phone.

He’d been the ringleader last night, Ryan remembers, and for a second he wonders if they’re taking him back down to the basement to serve as some sort of blood sacrifice. It’s not exactly a leap of logic, all things considered. If demons are a thing, it stands to reason that blood sacrifices are, too.

“Where are you taking me?” he whispers, his muscles bunching in preparation for a fight. Hellspawn or not, the demon doesn’t look that strong. Tall, maybe, but more slender than anything else. Ryan could take him.

“Living room,” Roland says, just before Ryan feels himself being lowered. He almost grabs onto the demon’s arms, visions of ceremonial daggers and all of his brothers in hooded cloaks filling his vision, before his back settles into the familiar divot of the lumpiest – and yet most comfortable – couch known to man. At least they hadn’t been lying about where they were taking him. “You beaned your head on the kitchen floor pretty hard, dude.”

Well, that explains the headache Ryan can feel pounding at his temples. “Guess I was surprised,” he says, giving Roland a flat look.

“You were afraid,” the demon says, lips twitching. Ryan glares before he can stop himself, forgetting for a moment who exactly – and _what_ exactly – he’s dealing with. The demon only chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a strangely boyish way. He’s wearing a fraternity sweatshirt, Ryan notices vaguely, one that’s a little too small on him and clings to the broad span of his shoulders. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m used to it.”

“I’m not _embarrassed_ ,” Ryan snaps, jolting up and then hissing as pain stabs through his temples. He jerks his gaze to Roland. “What the fuck did you guys do last night?”

Roland has the grace to look abashed. “To be fair, you weren’t supposed to see that,” he says, waving his hand as though encompassing the mindfuck that was all of Ryan’s frat brothers gathered around a creepy summoning circle in the middle of the night. “We were hoping to keep it under wraps until we could explain.”

“Explain _what_? Why you summoned a fucking hellspawn in our basement?”

“Ouch,” the demon murmurs, pressing a hand to his heart as though Ryan’s words have genuinely wounded him. “I’m right here, bud. And I have a name.”

Ryan nearly shrieks, “That’s not the issue here!”

“Ryan, chill,” Roland interjects, hands raised as if Ryan’s some sort of spooked animal in need of calming. “It’s okay, Shane’s cool. Promise.”

Ryan gapes. “ _Shane_?” he repeats dubiously. What kind of a name is _Shane_ for a demon?

The demon – Shane? – points at himself and nods. “Me Shane,” he says, and then points at Ryan. “You Ryan.”

Roland laughs, _laughs_ , like this is all some joke, like he’s not standing beside a literal fucking _demon_ , black eyes and horns on proud display and sharp teeth peeking out from between parted lips.

Ryan pushes himself up from the couch, ignoring the wave of pain and dizziness that sweeps through him as he struggles to his feet. “I’ve got – class,” he murmurs distractedly, giving the demon – _Shane_ , his mind gibbers helpfully – a wide berth as he makes a break for the door.

“Movie night tonight!” Roland calls after him, as if it’s any other day and Ryan’s brain isn’t melting out of his ears with every second he spends in Shane’s presence, staring at his horns or eyes or _teeth_ , holy fuck. “Don’t forget!”

Ryan makes a noise, though whether it’s a sound of affirmation or a strangled scream, even he can’t tell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left feedback on chapter one! I’m so glad you guys are enjoying this!

Ryan skips class.

He goes straight from the frat house to the campus library and spends hours digging through the stacks, pouring through everything he can find on the occult and demonology in search of answers. When that yields nothing but more fuel for his nightmares – blood sacrifices are definitely a thing, he learns; also, demonic possession is a fucking terrifying concept to read about mere hours after meeting an actual demon – Ryan digs out his phone and turns to the internet for help.

His search history is a mess: _how to vanquish a demon_ , _how to tell if someone is possessed by a demon_ , _how to protect yourself from demons_ chief among his many queries, all with millions of pages of results that Ryan baulks at and then gamely attempts to wade through. By the time the sun sets he feels no closer to any sort of solution, though he does haul two of the more promising books he’d found to the front counter, and he makes plans to go to the nearest church first thing in the morning to ask for some holy water.

It would help if he knew _how_ his brothers had even summoned Shane in the first place. He remembers seeing Roland reading something from his phone when he’d stumbled across them all in the basement last night but hadn’t been able to see anything but text on the screen, which Roland could have gotten from anywhere.

As he treks slowly across campus, hesitant to return to the frat house but not really having any alternatives, he also wishes he knew _why_ they’d done it. Roland hadn’t given him much information to go on, other than to say that Ryan wasn’t supposed to have known about it, which was… not reassuring at all.

Nothing about this situation was reassuring, not even the fact that Shane looked about as intimidating as a bendy straw once you took away the horns and the teeth and the eyes. What did he even _want_? Had Roland and the guys offered him anything to show up? And if so, what? Demons were tricky bastards; the bulk of the research Ryan had done could attest to that, and if the rest of his brothers were as blasé about Shane as Roland seemed to be, it would clearly be up to Ryan to figure out what Shane was after and to keep the boys safe.

Despite everything else, having something resembling a plan helps him to push down the fear that bubbles up in his throat when he catches sight of the frat house. It looks normal enough, a few of his brothers tossing a frisbee in the front yard, most of the windows lit up and the muffled sound of conversation filtering through the door as Ryan approaches it. For a second he can pretend that what he saw last night and this morning was nothing but some weird waking dream.

Until he opens the door, anyway, and sees a handful of his brothers gathered in the living room, pizza boxes piled on the coffee table and a heated round of Mario Kart in progress. 

In the middle of the familiar chaos sits Shane, onyx-colored horns and all, his hands wrapped around a controller and his dark eyes fixed on the screen. Ryan stands in the threshold of the living room and just stares, taking in the total mindfuck of a scene as his brothers shout and cheer and goad the players on.

Shane has _claws_ , Ryan notices in a vaguely dissociative way. Long, black nails have sprouted from his fingers and click against the controller as he guides his character around the track. They’re slim and matte, the overhead light not catching on them at all, and overall they look very… sharp.

He gulps.

Dave’s the first to catch sight of him, perched on the arm of the sofa with a slice of pizza in one hand and a water bottle in the other. “Oh, hey, Ryan. Check this out, man. Shane’s a _beast_.”

Ryan opens his mouth to say something pithy about already knowing that, thanks, when he realizes Dave’s talking about the game and immediately wants to strangle something.

As if summoned by his violent thoughts – fuck, is that a thing? – Shane glances away from the screen and catches Ryan’s gaze, smiling in a way that would seem friendly enough if it weren’t for the sharp teeth peeking out from between his lips.

“How was class?” he asks, his dark eyes reflecting pinpricks of light from the overhead fixture, like candlewicks flickering in the midst of two black holes.

Ryan’s heart, already beating faster since spotting Shane, begins to race. His headache, reduced to a dull throb at the back of his skull throughout the day, flares to life in a sharp burst of pain that makes him wince. It feels like he and Shane are the only two in the room, somehow, a uniquely isolating and terrifying experience that roots him to the floor despite his desire to get the fuck out of there.

“Fine,” he says, the word dropping from his lips with a croak. Shane’s smile broadens, the tips of his teeth glinting white between his pale lips, and Ryan’s heart lurches. He jerks his eyes away from Shane’s and makes to leave, craving the safety of his room, but Roland’s voice stops him.

“Hey! You forget about movie night, dude?” He gestures to the pizza and a stack of DVDs Ryan had missed in his first scan of the room, before scooting over to leave a spot free on the couch for Ryan to claim. A spot right next to Shane. “C’mon, let’s get it started. Shane’s kicking all our asses anyway.”

Shane dips his head in acknowledgement. “You were all worthy opponents,” he assures, his voice rich with amusement. His eyes flicker to Ryan. “What about you? Want to try your luck?” He wiggles the controller temptingly, his nails clicking lightly against the plastic.

Ryan can’t shake the feeling that he’s being challenged to more than just a video game, though whether Shane’s words mean more than they seem, he has no way of knowing, doesn’t _want_ to know. He just wants to escape to his room, lock the door, and find some goddamn answers.

“I have… work. A paper.” He gestures to the books tucked under his arm, careful to keep the titles hidden out of sight.

Shane’s eyes track the movement, and he smiles as though he can see straight through Ryan’s lie – shit, is _that_ a thing? “Need any help?”

_Why? You know a priest?_ Ryan wants to ask, the snarky reply on the tip of his tongue before he remembers that maybe he shouldn’t antagonize the demon. 

“No, I’m – I’m good, thanks.” He takes a step back, fleeing toward the sanctity of his room, yet even as he climbs the stairs he’s aware of Shane’s eyes, their weight trained on his shoulders and lingering long after he disappears from view.

His heart and his head are both fucking pounding as he reaches his room and slams the door shut, the click of the lock doing little to ease his rapid pulse. He stares at his unmade bed, the dirty laundry spilling from his hamper, his childhood Paddington plush that his mom had sent him during his first week sitting on his desk – the familiarity of it all somehow made more surreal by the knowledge that a demon sits just downstairs, playing video games and watching movies with his frat brothers all in a bid to… what, exactly? What the fuck is Shane’s game plan here? What is he after?

Ryan flicks on his desk lamp and opens one of the books he’d brought home, determined to find out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge, huge thank you to everyone who has read/commented/left kudos on the last two chapters! You guys and your feedback have played a huge part in me continuing this little fic and I'm thrilled that you're enjoying it!

He’s dreaming.

Ryan _knows_ he’s dreaming, in a way he’s never known before. It creeps into his subconscious as soon as he’s aware, the first thought that pops into his head as he opens his eyes: _I’m dreaming_.

Another realization, this one far more alarming, follows straight on its heels – he knows where he is.

The basement.

He’s strewn out in the middle of the floor, wrists and ankles bound with thick rope that digs uncomfortably into his flesh. A circle of flickering candlelight surrounds him, and through the haze of the flames he can make out the formless shapes of the washer and dryer, the old couch they’d stowed down there for lack of anywhere better to put it, and the faint outline of the brick walls.

He’s alone, the basement empty and silent save for his own breath, which begins to quicken with the realization of where he is and what condition he’s in, trussed up and dumped in the center of his frat brother’s summoning circle, the staircase leading to freedom shrouded in a darkness that his eyes can’t penetrate.

He struggles uselessly, wordless noises of panic slipping from a mouth gone bone dry from terror, and yelps as the rope digs deeper into his flesh.

“ _Very nice_ ,” a soft voice hisses from the darkness. Ryan freezes and then jerks in his bonds, eyes swinging desperately around the room, though it does no good. The circle of light surrounding him skews his vision and leaves spots dancing in his eyes as he searches for the source of the voice, and he blinks furiously to clear them away.

“W-Who’s there?” he calls out, voice cracking with mounting fear. When all that gets him is a throaty laugh, seeming to rumble from the very floor at his back, Ryan tenses and begins to struggle harder, the rope burning his skin with every futile twist of his wrists and ankles.

“ _So much fear_ ,” the voice practically coos, and Ryan yelps as hands wind around his ankles – hands topped with long, sharp nails. His eyes follow the line of wiry, rust-colored arms all the way up to a grinning, devilish face, and he jerks in the throes of a dizzying rush of fear and shock. It’s _Shane_ , but also not, his features more pronounced and grotesque than the sleepy-eyed man-shaped version Ryan had been introduced to. His eyes are deep black voids, no hint of light within them, and his teeth, bared in that terrifying grin, are sharp and pointed to such an extent that they score tiny cuts on Shane’s lips as he speaks. “ _I think I’ll keep you around, devour you one piece at a time, until you’re nothing but a little mewling soul writhing in my grasp_.” His grin broadens, a forked tongue slipping from between his lips and curling along the edges of his teeth. “ _And then I’ll eat that, too_.”

He settles over Ryan, the clack of cloven hooves scraping against concrete making Ryan whimper, eyes wide and terrified. Shane is so heavy, his skin practically boiling through Ryan’s clothes, and pained tears brim in Ryan’s eyes as the demon leans closer, mouth open and breath misting humid and hot and fetid against his face.

“Are you shitting me?”

Both Ryan and the demon freeze, turning as one to see a person standing at the edge of the circle, tall and topped with a head of fluffy hair and curling horns.

“S-Shane?” Ryan chokes out, unsure if he’s referring to the demon straddling him or the one standing and watching them.

The Shane at the edge of the circle dips his head, says, “At your service,” and flicks his wrist. The weight on top of Ryan abruptly removes itself, the demon careening across the room and rocketing headfirst into the far wall. There’s a sickening crunch and the scrape of skin against brick as the demon sinks to the floor, cloven hooves spread in an ungainly sprawl and face slack and lifeless.

Ryan stares between the demon and Shane – Shane and the demon? Both Shanes? – and croaks, “What the _fuck_?” 

Shane scoffs and bends down, ignoring the way Ryan tenses at his proximity and ripping his bonds away. “Exactly. What the _fuck_ , man? _That’s_ how you see me? Some weird Bond villain crossed with a knockoff Satan?” He shakes his head as Ryan rubs gingerly at his bruised wrists, perching his hands on his bony hips and sighing. “I mean, I get where you’re coming from – really, I do. The only experience you’ve had with my kind is limited to pop culture depictions and illustrations from musty books written by fearful mortals so of course this is what you’d come up with.” Shane shoots a glance at his silent counterpart, lips curling with distaste. “Still disappointing, though. I mean, I’m much more attractive than that guy, right?”

When all Ryan does is gape at him, Shane sighs, shoulders slumping. “Right,” he mutters. “Let’s get outta here, shall we?” He reaches out, offering his hand to Ryan, and Ryan –

Ryan doesn’t know what the fuck to do. He’s still dreaming, isn’t he? He has to be, right? But why would he dream of Shane like this, saving him? Was this all Shane’s doing, some trick to get him to lower his guard? Could demons influence your dreams?

“Ryan, buddy,” Shane says, voice soft. “You’re overthinking things. I mean you no harm, I swear it.”

“How… ?” Ryan clears his throat, tries again. “How am I supposed to trust you?”

Shane huffs a breath, resigned rather than angry, and says, “My kind are big on deals. In the morning when you wake, ask me about them. Whatever you want, I’ll give you.”

He sounds sincere enough, eyes warm despite their utter blackness, and Ryan – Ryan is tired, confused, and ready to get the fuck out of this creepy ass basement.

He reaches for Shane’s hand.

Around them, the edges of the room begin to blur and distort, melting away like paint washed away on a canvas. Ryan’s heart trips, though whether it’s from fear or some other emotion, he has no time to decipher. One second he’s staring at Shane’s face, feeling the strength in his deceptively scrawny arms as Shane pulls him up from the floor, and the next he’s falling into darkness, the comforting blackness of sleep rather than the unknown void of that other Shane’s eyes.

He wakes up in his bed with his alarm blaring, Shane’s words filtering sluggishly through his mind – _My kind are big on deals. In the morning when you wake, ask me about them. Whatever you want, I’ll give you_ – and tosses his blankets aside.

He needs to find Shane.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four is here! I’ve really developed a major soft spot for this verse and I’m having a blast writing it, so I hope you guys are enjoying it!

Shane’s sitting at the kitchen table when Ryan stumbles downstairs after a hasty shower, shoveling cereal into his mouth like Frosted Flakes are a precious commodity and he’s commandeered the last box.

He’s also alone, which bodes well for the conversation Ryan wants to have.

“So,” he says, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table.

Shane swallows another spoonful, licking a stray droplet of milk from his bottom lip.

 _No forked tongue_ , Ryan thinks, and feels a flush of… something travel down the length of his spine. Embarrassment, maybe. His vision of Shane really had been… well, _uninspired_ , if he’s being honest with himself.

Shane quirks an eyebrow. “So?”

Ryan decides against playing coy. Worse-case scenario, he comes off like a loon in front of a demon. No biggie. “Were you… in my dream last night?”

He knows the answer before Shane even opens his mouth. The demon’s smile, there in a flash and gone again just as quickly, gives it away.

“I don’t know, Ryan,” Shane says, tilting his head. “Was I?”

Ryan scowls. “Don’t be an asshole, dude.”

Shane points at himself and says “Demon,” which, fair.

“You were in my dream,” Ryan reiterates, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on the table. “Actually _in_ it. Right?”

Shane finishes his last bite, his movements unhurried and weirdly graceful, considering he’d just been shoveling cereal into his mouth like it was going out of style. He drops his spoon into the empty bowl with a clatter, black eyes flickering up to Ryan. “I was,” he says.

Ryan’s brain fizzles, like oil popping in a hot pan. “You said something about a deal,” he continues, voice faint as he processes the implications of Shane’s words. “Last night. In my dream.” It’s a strange thought, and a really fucking concerning one at that, that Shane can somehow enter his dreams. Enter them and exert his own will on them, if the way he had dispatched of his other self was any indication.

“That I did,” Shane says easily, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them. The early morning sunlight spilling through the window lends a golden sheen to his auburn hair, and despite the utter blackness of his pupils, his gaze isn’t as terrifying as Ryan had once thought. At least, not in the comforting light of day.

Still, Ryan eyes him warily. “What kind of a deal did you have in mind?” he asks, bracing himself for negotiations over his immortal soul or whatever it is demons use as currency.

Shane studies him for a moment, eyes narrowed thoughtfully, before asking, apropos of nothing, “You have those a lot?” He taps a long finger against the side of his temple. “Nightmares?”

“I… I guess so, yeah?” Ryan stumbles over his words, shocked into honesty at the abrupt change in subject, and rubs the back of his neck as a bout of embarrassment washes over him. He’s always been prone to night terrors, more so when he was a kid, but they’ve been becoming more frequent lately. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s woken up in the middle of the night, shaking and sweating, the remnants of some nebulous horror or another clinging to his mind. It’s mostly a reaction to stress, he knows, and what is college if not stressful? Still, it’s embarrassing to have one of his frat brothers stumble into the kitchen for a midnight snack only to find him wrapped in a blanket at the table with wide eyes and trembling limbs, too afraid to go back to sleep.

Shane nods, as if he’d figured as much. “I can help with that, if you’d like,” he says, and though there’s nothing outwardly sinister about the offer, Ryan’s stomach still clenches up tight, a reaction to the sudden spike of fear in his gut.

“How?”

Shane smiles. Ryan’s breath sticks in his throat at the sudden flash of those sharp teeth. “They’re a… specialty of mine. Dreams.”

Ryan hears what he’s not saying. “Nightmares, you mean,” he says. It’s not a question.

Shane’s smile broadens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re a smart cookie, Bergara,” he says. It doesn’t sound like mockery; in fact, Shane sounds _pleased_.

 _What a weird fucking demon_ , Ryan thinks.

“I’ll admit, I’m not well-versed in preventing bad dreams so much as, y’know – “ Shane waves his hand. His nails are pale and blunt this morning, Ryan notes; no sign of the sharp, matte claws from the night before.

“Causing them?” Ryan finishes.

Shane’s lips twitch. “Bingo,” he chirps, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms lazily over his chest. “Still, it’s not impossible for me. I’m a demon of many talents.”

“Majored in dreams at demon university, did you?” Ryan asks, brow quirked. He bites at the inside of his cheek once he realizes what he’s said, wondering when he’s gonna learn to stop running his mouth around this guy.

Shane doesn’t seem to care about his snark; if anything, he seems amused by it. “Something like that,” he says, a hint of laughter in his tone.

Ryan leans forward. “Is that what you were doing last night? Messing with my dreams?”

Shane spreads his hands on the tabletop, drawing Ryan’s eyes to his long, tapered fingers and blunt nails. “’Messing’ with them – no. More like… observing.”

“Observing,” Ryan repeats skeptically. “Why?”

“I hadn’t planned on it, if that makes a difference. Your nightmare was, hmm. Loud.”

“Loud?” Had he been making noise in his sleep? Yelling? _Crying_? Fuck, he’d never live it down if his brothers heard that shit.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Shane shakes his head and says, “Not outwardly, nothing anyone else could pick up on. Just me. Your panic, your fear – think of them as frequencies on a radio that only I can hear.”

Ryan’s body flushes hot and then cold, making him shiver even as the warm morning sunlight bears down on his shoulders. It’s like last night all over again, when they had been surrounded by his frat brothers and yet it had felt like he and Shane were the only two in the room. “And you just – what? Decided to tune in?”

Shane has the grace to look abashed, shoulders lifting in a casual shrug. “Like I said, it was loud. Kind of hard to ignore. I figured I could just pop in and see what all the ruckus was about, smooth things over enough that you would sleep a little more soundly. Didn’t expect you to be lucid. Or dreaming of me, for that matter, though I guess it’s not surprising, all things considered.”

All things considered, like Ryan’s entire life being turned upside down and shaken into disarray in a matter of days.

“What do you want?” he asks, fingers curling into fists on the tabletop. His heart has climbed into his throat over the course of their conversation and he can barely get his words out around it.

Shane’s teasing expression melts into something a little softer, a little more serious. “I’d like to stay,” he says simply, spreading his hands on the tabletop. The sleeves of the sweatshirt he’s wearing climb up the length of his forearms, baring his wrists, pale skin and the faint blue of his veins drawing Ryan’s eye to them despite not knowing why. “I’ll help with your nightmares in return, if you’ll allow it.”

Such a simple request, and yet Ryan feels the weight of his decision bearing down on his shoulders like a two-ton boulder. Why is this suddenly up to him? Shouldn’t Shane be asking Roland or one of the others about this? Ryan hadn’t even been included in the summoning; in fact, he’s been the only one discomfited by Shane’s presence, and clearly so. Is that why Shane wants his permission to stay?

He should say no. _Clearly_ he should say no, tell Shane to pack his bags and go back to wherever the hell he came from, and then go back to his own life and forget the past two days ever happened.

But –

What’s to stop Shane from wreaking havoc somewhere else on campus, or even beyond, if Ryan says no? It’s better if he’s here, isn’t it? Where Ryan can keep an eye on him? Make sure he stays out of trouble? It’s not like anyone else will do it.

“You can’t hurt anyone,” he says, meeting Shane’s eyes and holding that dark-eyed stare despite his stomach twisting into knots. “Not my brothers, not the other students. No one.”

Shane nods. He doesn’t look surprised by the condition. “Of course. You have my word.”

Can he trust it, though? He thinks back to his nightmare, to Shane’s resignation when Ryan had asked if he could trust him, to the way he’d dispatched of the dream-demon before it could do him any harm. He thinks of the past couple days, of his brothers’ faces last night while they cheered Shane on and how the worst thing he’s seen Shane do is attack a bowl of cereal like a starved animal.

“Fine,” he says, and feels something untangle in his chest, floating free – the anxiety he’s carried for the past few days, maybe, over what Shane could possibly want or hope to gain by being here. At least now he has some sort of idea of what he’s dealing with.

Shane’s lips tilt into a smile, lacking his usual humor or teasing. He holds out his hand, but instead of offering his palm for Ryan to shake, his fingers curl until just his pinky is left.

Ryan’s shocked into a laugh by the gesture. “Are you serious?”

“Pinky promises _are_ serious, Bergara,” Shane returns smoothly, dark eyes glittering in the sunlight. “Get with the times.”

Ryan shakes his head, his previous thought returning: _What a weird fucking demon_. Still, he reaches out and wraps his pinky around Shane’s, the first time he’s actually touched Shane since this whole mess began. His skin is warm, like he’s been sitting in the sun for hours and the rays have soaked into his flesh. It’s not exactly unpleasant, just… different. New.

They’re interrupted by the thud of footsteps on the stairs. Ryan pulls his hand away just before Roland peeks his head into the kitchen and grins to see them both.

“Thought I heard you two down here. Perfect timing.”

Before Ryan can ask, Roland’s digging into his pocket and saying, “I need you – “ He gestures at Ryan. “ – to run a little errand.”

Ryan narrows his eyes. “What kind of errand?”

Roland jerks a thumb at Shane. “If this dude’s gonna stick around, he’s gonna need some clothes. Dev’s old sweatshirt isn’t gonna cut it for much longer.”

Well, that solved the mystery of where Shane had gotten the sweater. Devon was the tallest member of the frat, though the demon had him beat by a good two or three inches and was a little broader in the shoulders.

Ryan understood the necessity of the task, as surreal as it was to imagine a demon rifling through stacks of clothing at the mall, but still. “Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one with a late class today. Here.” Roland pushes a card into his hand. “Don’t lose that or Jase will have your ass.”

At the mention of their treasurer and a glance at the plastic tucked in his palm, Ryan raises a brow.

“We’re using fraternity funds for this? Really? What category does shopping for a demon fall under?”

“Miscellaneous expenses,” Roland returns with a shit-eating grin, before slapping a friendly palm against both of their shoulders and nudging them out of the kitchen. “C’mon, up you go. Make him look pretty, Bergara, or you’re both out on your asses tonight!”

Ryan raises his middle finger without turning around, pausing long enough to grab his keys from one of the hooks in the foyer, Shane a steady presence at his back. Roland’s laughter follows them straight out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

“Dude, are you done yet?” Ryan tries to keep the whine out of his voice, though he isn’t quite successful, judging from the poisonous look a nearby sales clerk shoots him. Fuck it, though. He’s tired and hungry and done with being Shane’s glorified clothes rack. There’s a bundle of shirts, pants, and a denim jacket tossed over his lap, and more clothes piled in the bags scattered at his feet.

Granted, not all of them belong to Shane – hey, if Ryan had to play shopping buddy to a demon, he was damn sure gonna get something out of it. Well, a few things. If Roland asked, Ryan would just say that Shane had developed a healthy curiosity for snapbacks and sneakers.

“Almost!” Shane calls from within the dressing room, his voice as chipper as it had been when they’d first arrived at the mall. Hours ago. Ryan may have underestimated how much effort it would take to find clothes proportionate enough to cover Shane’s mile-long limbs. He’ll never complain about finding pants in his own size ever again.

“Well?” Shane emerges from the dressing room with more enthusiasm than Ryan’s seen from him thus far, spreading his arms and doing a little spin. “What do you think?”

Ryan squints, taking him in. He’d figured out pretty quickly that Shane has a… unique sort of aesthetic. He’d been curious about what sort of clothes Shane would gravitate toward when given free reign, had pictured anything from formal suits to printed tees, and while a few crisp button-up shirts _had_ made their way into the shopping bags scattered at Ryan’s feet, Shane seemed to prefer soft plaids, denim, and colorful prints more than anything Ryan had imagined him going for.

And the thing is – they worked for him. He’d made a point to show off each new outfit for Ryan, sometimes asking his opinion, sometimes just snorting at the baffled look on his face, because no one should be able to pull off Hawaiian print as well as Shane did, and yet –

“It looks – it looks good,” Ryan says truthfully, admiring the cut of the floral print button-up currently clinging to Shane’s broad shoulders. Its light blue color matches well with the dark chinos he’d found in another shop and decided to wear out, and Ryan finds himself glancing at the bare skin of his ankles for no discernible reason before jerking his eyes back to Shane’s face.

It’s strange to see him like this – not just in the clothes, but out among people. Ryan had fretted all the way to his car about how the hell they were supposed to hide Shane’s eyes and horns, but by the time Shane had slipped into the passenger seat, long legs folded up awkwardly as he maneuvered them beneath the dash, his eyes had been an amber brown and his horns had been nowhere to be seen.

“How – Where did – ?” Ryan had boggled, barely resisting the urge to reach out and root through Shane’s fluffy hair, as if he could find those ram-like horns if he just searched hard enough.

Shane had merely winked and scratched idly at his nose, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Like this, without the traits that brand him otherwise, Shane looks – well. Human. Still impossibly tall and lanky and a little goofy, but human. It’s _weird_. Ryan almost prefers the horns, honestly, because as strange as they are, Ryan’s at least used to them. Sort of. He keeps glancing at Shane’s head and wondering where the fuck they went, and then flushing whenever Shane catches him at it.

“Good, huh?” Shane smoothes his hands down the front of the shirt; Ryan’s eyes follow the movement of his fingers, drawn to the way they catch and tug against the fabric, molding it to Shane’s chest. Seeing him out of Dev’s shapeless sweatshirt and in more form-fitting clothes is honestly just as strange as seeing him without the horns and black eyes – though in this case, rather than missing something, there suddenly seems to be so much more to him.

He’s definitely not as scrawny as Ryan had first made him out to be. Lanky as Shane is, there’s strength in the broad span of his shoulders and the wiry musculature of his arms. It’s everything else – the wild, fluffy hair, the small, cat-like curl of a smile, and the sleepy droop of his eyes– that ruins the image of a big bad demon come to wreak havoc on earth.

“Yeah,” Ryan mumbles, climbing to his feet and groaning softly at the stiffness in his legs. “It suits you.”

Shane grins, obviously pleased by Ryan’s assessment, and Ryan tries not to care that his opinion matters at all.

Thankfully, his stomach chooses that moment to unleash a rumble loud enough for both them and possibly the rest of the store to hear, saving Ryan from any further conversation about just how nicely Shane’s new duds suit his frame.

“Are you hungry or is that a demon in your tummy?” Shane asks, voice lifted in goofy inflection.

Ryan rolls his eyes and tosses his lapful of clothes at Shane’s grinning face, before bending down to begin the arduous task of gathering up all of their bags and looping them around his arms. “Some of us didn’t eat breakfast and you’ve been trying on clothes for three hours. Of course I’m fucking hungry.”

Shane hums, loping along beside Ryan up to the register. “Tummy demon still has my vote,” he quips, either ignoring or not giving a shit about the uncertain glance the sales clerk shoots his way before dutifully ringing up their purchases.

By the time they wind up in the food court, a veritable smorgasbord of greasy fast food scattered across the table and their small hoard of shopping bags piled at their feet, Ryan’s more concerned with filling his stomach than the way Shane’s new clothes frame his shoulders and cling to the long, long length of his legs. Which is for the best, honestly, because to follow that confusing tangle of thoughts down into the rabbit hole waiting at the bottom is probably not the best path to take on an empty stomach.

So instead, Ryan gratefully inhales a burger the size of his head – the size of Shane’s head, even – and surreptitiously watches Shane do the same. It’s as he catches a flash of Shane’s teeth – _blunt_ teeth, devoid of the sharpness that had haunted Ryan since he’d first seen them aimed his way – that he’s stricken with the same thought that’s been niggling at the back of his mind since he saw his brothers scattered around that circle.

“How did they do it?”

Shane glances up from his fries, brows quirking over amber eyes. “How did who do what?”

“The guys,” Ryan clarifies. “My brothers. How did they summon you in the first place?”

“Didn’t you see? They said you caught them at it.”

Ryan snorts. “Well, yeah, but it looked like something out of a crappy B movie – the candles, the circle, whatever the fuck Roland was chanting.”

“Just add some robes and goat’s blood and presto,” Shane says, snapping his fingers. “You’ve got yourself a demon.” At the look Ryan sends him, Shane huffs a laugh and adds, “Hey, you really don’t need much. Sometimes a simple summoning can be just as effective as the heavy hitters.”

“But where did they even find it?” So far as Ryan knows, he’s the only one in the frat with even a remote interest in the supernatural, and there had been nothing about how to summon up demons in any of the library books he’d searched through the day before.

Shane tosses a fry into his mouth and munches cheerily, his shoulders lifting in a casual shrug. “Wiki-How,” he says, a trace of laughter in his voice. “If you can believe that.”

Ryan nearly spits out his smoothie. “You’re shitting me,” he says. “You have to be. There’s no fucking way – “ He pauses, reassesses, and amends, “Okay, them looking up summoning rituals on Wiki-How is something I can believe, but it _working_? Nope. Pull the other one, big guy.”

Shane barks a laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners. It’s kind of… nice, actually. Laughter is a good look on him.

“Yeah, no, it didn’t work. Never would have, though I will say that they certainly went all out with the atmosphere. The circle, the candles, the locale? Very nice.”

“So if it didn’t work, then how – ?”

Shane shrugs. “I happened to be in the area, heard the call.”

“The call? So they _were_ actually summoning something?”

Shane shakes his head, long fingers playing idly with his straw. “Nah, it’s more like… Look, the candles, the summoning circle, the words – most of that shit is just bells and whistles. You know – fanfare. Some of us are old school; we want the pomp and circumstance, the theatricality, the – “

“The blood sacrifices?” Ryan asks flatly.

Shane dips his head. “I won’t lie – it’s a draw for some. Your brothers’ execution was off, though – like, hilariously off – but the want, the _intent_ behind it was there, and that’s really what attracts us.”

“Everyone wants to feel wanted, I guess,” Ryan jokes, though it falls a little flat as his brain scurries to process all of the information Shane’s giving him. “Jesus Christ. Okay. Now I know _how_ they got you here, but _why_? What the fuck kind of deal were they after?”

Shane licks a dollop of ketchup from his finger. “Oh, I didn’t make a deal with them,” he says, casual as you please.

Ryan’s mouth falls open, slack with disbelief. “Wha – ? Why are you sticking around then?”

“I was already in town, so why not? Plus, they needed help; I was feeling generous.”

“You were feeling generous,” Ryan repeats, incredulous. “You. A demon. Were feeling generous.”

“Yes, Ryan.” Shane’s voice is patient, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that indicates his rising annoyance. “We’re not all one-note caricatures, you know, looking to swallow up souls and spread misery in our wake.”

Despite knowing he probably shouldn’t, and despite the little panicked voice in the back of his brain screaming that this is a _goddamn demon_ he’s talking to, Ryan actually starts to feel a little bad. It’s no secret that he’s been distrustful of Shane since day one, and making a lot of snap judgments because of it, when all Shane’s really done since arriving has been… well, playing video games with his frat brothers and helping Ryan deal with a shitty nightmare.

“I’ll – I’ll try to keep that in mind,” he says slowly, and feels vindicated by the grateful smile Shane sends his way. In a fit of impulsivity that he tries not to analyze too closely, he holds out his hand and curls his fingers, leaving his pinkie extended.

Shane’s smile broadens, dimpling his cheeks and crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Is that a deal, Mr. Bergara?” he asks, holding his hand out toward Ryan’s.

“Not a deal,” Ryan says, hooking his pinkie around Shane’s and giving it a firm shake. He’s still afraid – he probably always will be – but he’s ready to try and work past it. Ready to give Shane a little of his trust, if just to prove that he can. “A promise.”


End file.
